


Evening Sky

by nellii



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Happy Ending, Injury, Short One Shot, geralt and jaskier are besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellii/pseuds/nellii
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt talk after a bandit fight.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #010





	Evening Sky

“Wooh!” Jaskier calls out, breathless and winded, cheeks red and eyes wild. His hair is blown back by the wind from atop his palomino mare’s back as he pulls her to a slow halt beside Roach and Geralt. “That was- that was-”

“Breathe.” Geralt reminds him calmly, and the bard nods and takes a few gulping breaths, steadies himself with one hand on his mare’s neck and one on his side, presumably for balance.

“I just, I mean, I’ve never seen so many bandits before. I thought surely they were going to overpower you, knock your sword away, and kill us all.” He bursts out. 

“Don’t be so grim.” Geralt admonishes. He gathers Roach’s reins in one hand and dismounts, landing with an audible huff. “It was bad, yes. But I had it handled. You didn’t get hurt. Mission accomplished.”

“I know you did well.” Jaskier stayed on his mare a little longer, removing his boots from the stirrups and kicking them a little, excess adrenaline still pounding in his veins. “But still.”

“Still. You  _ still _ could have been hurt.” Geralt reminds him as he walks Roach to the fence, wooden and unpainted and about a breath away from falling to pieces. He loops her reins across one of the beams, tying her there securely. “I tell you every time, bard. Stay. Back.”

“And I don’t listen!” Jaskier says cheerfully. He hops off of his mare’s back and leaves her to graze among the grass by the road. Geralt is standing with his back pressed against the fence, and Jaskier hops up to sit next to him. It’s evening, and the sky is a pretty warm shade of amber. His cheeks had so much color, and as the adrenaline wears off he’s looking rather pale. Humming, Geralt reaches over and presses the backs of two fingers to his forehead.

“You’re alright, though.” He says, not exactly a question.

“Whatever has gotten you so worried?” Jaskier blinks up at him. “I would tell you if something was wrong, I would.” And though Jaskier smells of cold tea and lies, Geralt shrugs and lets it go. Jaskier would be far too dramatic about an injury to lie about it. Always complaining about sore feet and saddle rash. 

He hops up to sit on the fence beside Jaskier. The sky is looking more purple than orange, but it is far from dark. The sun is still peeking over the tops of the trees, illuminating the field and the fence and the boys, sitting, together.

“Jaskier,” Geralt asks, “why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in danger.”

“Well, it’s about the adventure, isn’t it-”

“Not that.”

Jaskier blinks stupidly. He adjusts himself as if one side is hurting. Geralt figures he is simply sore from riding. 

“I think,” Jaskier begins slowly, “I think it makes me feel better to be with you. It would be an awful thing for a Witcher to die alone.”

“That is, you remember, how we are meant to die.” Geralt reminds him. “Not in our beds, surrounded by family.”

“That’s depressing, and I don’t like when you say it.” 

“It’s true.”

“Oh, shut up, you oaf.”

Geralt shuts up. Jaskier smiles, gently, and nudges him with one shoulder. “I didn’t mean it. You can keep talking. I insist on it, actually. Talk to me some more, Wolf.”

“You could be in a court.” Geralt says. “Playing for a king, a queen. You could be in a tavern. Warm, safe, belly full of bread and mead.”

“What are you saying?” Jaskier frowns. “Are you trying to get rid of me? Oh, Geralt, silly boy- you know that won’t work.” He winces, and Geralt freezes.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?” Jaskier asks, blankly. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just told you. I like being with you.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to make of that. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and gives a dramatic sigh. “If I were hurt, dear Wolf, would I have told you? And- and you know I love you.” Jaskier tells him. “You know I love this life we have. That you’ve let me have. You know I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“I do.” Geralt tells him back. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Oh, no reason.” Jaskier lies. He lies well. He lies like it’s rolling off of his tongue, like water off of a duck’s back. He lies like it’s his second nature, and it is, as a bard and actor. 

Geralt eyes him like he doesn’t quite believe him. Like he isn’t quite under the influence of the lie, but he chooses to be, grunting and turning away. Leaning back, and staring up at the evening sky. 

And Jaskier, Jaskier does too. He takes a moment to adjust his doublet so it is covering his still bleeding side wound, where one of the bandits stabbed him when Geralt wasn’t looking. 

He is feeling rather faint. 

The stars are looking rather beautiful tonight, even though it isn't night. It’s still evening. There should be no stars in the sky when Jaskier looks up, and there are all the same. 

And hadn’t he just been sitting on the fence? Sitting beside his best friend, his bestest friend in the whole wide Continent- Geralt? He was in the wheat now, and it was soft beneath his head, and above him a sky full of bright white stars shone. 

He awakes sometime later, and instead of cushioned among wheat and grass he’s on a cot, firm and cold and stiff but not  _ dead _ . 

And he thinks, he thinks the field, the fence, it would have been a pretty place to die. He doesn’t want to die here, of all places, he wants to go back.

“Geralt?” He croaks, unsure if Geralt is even near. “Can we go back?”

“Quiet.” Comes his companion’s shaking voice. “Quiet, you stupid bard.”

“Oh.” Jaskier stills again. He didn’t have to be so rude. This is just a dreary place to pass on, is all. The field, however, oh the field was beautiful. The sky. The sky full of stars that shouldn’t have been there. It must have been the bloodloss. 

“Why can’t we go back?” He tries again, cracking his eyes open to look over at Geralt who is kneeling beside his cot. They’re in a building. An inn?

“Shh.” 

“I don’t want to die here.” He tries to relay. “Could we go back? It was lovely there.”

“You’re not going to die. Stupid bard. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Jaskier thinks about that for a moment, because he isn’t quite sure. 

“It was a good place to die, Geralt.”

But he doesn’t die. He isn’t dead. He’s alive. He’s alive. 

Geralt, beside him, takes his hand, squeezes, sighs, says nothing.

“Quiet, now.” Geralt whispers, and he doesn’t sound so angry anymore. Maybe he disagreed. Maybe the field, the fence, the sky, it wasn’t Jaskier’s place to die after all. 


End file.
